第 11 页

“I have no desire to remember it,” said her host. “We agreed at the time that it should be silence for silence. It was a bargain which we have kept ever since. You have married Jack Cullerton, and you are happy except that your husband is a born gambler. And of that he must be cured.”

“I know. I know!” she said hastily. “But earlier this evening you promised to tell me about Gabrielle. I must see her. She seems to have disappeared. Where is she?”

“In London, I believe.”

“In London! Yet the last time you spoke of her you said she was in Turin, on her way here, to Florence.”

Oswald De Gex laughed lightly.

“Yes. She came to Florence for a few days, but she has returned to London. Why are you so anxious to see her?”

“I want to see her about a matter which concerns Jack and myself--that's all,” replied young Mrs. Cullerton.

“May I not know?” asked her host.

“It is a purely private matter,” was her reply.

Then from the conversation that followed, it seemed as though the millionaire was apprehensive lest she should meet the mysterious Gabrielle, and I wondered whether it was in order to prevent them meeting that he entertained designs upon her life.

I recollected that little glass tube which he was carrying in secret in his pocket, and which the scoundrelly Italian had urged him to refrain from using because he might place his own life in jeopardy.

I listened to every word. De Gex was evidently most anxious to know why she sought Gabrielle so eagerly. And Gabrielle, I could only surmise, was the girl I had seen stark and dead in that handsome room in Stretton Street.

That night of watchfulness had borne fruit. I had learnt from De Gex's own lips that another deep and subtle trap was to be laid for me--a trap baited with the tragic-faced girl herself. Further, I had established that he intended that, sooner or later, an accident should befall the dainty little woman in that rich ermine cloak, the woman with whom he was chatting so affably. Also I had learned her identity, and it now remained for me to forewarn her of what was intended.

The rich Englishman had talked for about a quarter of an hour with Dorothy Cullerton, when at last they returned to the house, while I made my way in the darkness back to the gate. When I arrived, however, I found that Moroni had locked it after him. I was therefore compelled to climb the wrought ironwork, and after several unsuccessful attempts succeeded in regaining the road.

It was long past midnight ere I found myself back in Fiesole, but I discovered a belated cab, and in it I drove back to Florence, full of grave reflections.

On the following day I bought in the Via Tornabuoni an English newspaper which publishes weekly a list of visitors to Florence, and from it discovered that Mr. and Mrs. Cullerton were living at the Villa Tassi, out at Montaguto, about three miles from the Porta Romana, on the opposite side of Florence. That same morning I took the steam tram from the Piazza della Signorina, and after three miles of dusty road, alighted at a spot beyond the little village of Galluzzo in the Val d'Ema. Crossing the brook I soon began to ascend the hill of Montaguto--a pretty eminence clothed with cypresses and olives--and was not long in discovering the neat, newly-built little villa, one of a number which are let furnished each season to wealthy foreigners. I noted as I passed that it was well-kept, that the garden was bright with flowers, even though it was winter, and that in the garage was a small light car which at the moment was being washed by an English chauffeur.

I longed to have some excuse to call upon Mrs. Cullerton, but could think of none. Therefore I returned to Florence and pursued fresh tactics. The afternoon I spent making inquiries regarding the Cullertons, and soon discovered that they were intimate friends of Monsieur Rameil, the French Consul, and his wife.

With this knowledge I lost no time in obtaining an introduction to the French Consul, and three days later received a card for one of Madame's Friday afternoons. Naturally I went, and to my delight Mrs. Cullerton was there also. She was a strikingly pretty young woman, and apparently extremely popular, judging by the manner in which two or three young Italian elegants danced attendance upon her. Shortly before I left my hostess introduced me to her, and naturally I endeavoured to make myself extremely agreeable. But was not the situation a strange one? And this pretty woman had been marked down for destruction by the mysterious millionaire, just as I had been!

Yet had I told anyone of the knowledge I had gained I would not have been believed, any more than would credence have been given to the story of my strange adventure in Stretton Street.

We chatted for perhaps ten minutes. She asked me where I was staying and how long I should be in Florence, and then, expressing a hope that we should meet again, I bowed and left her.

I had accomplished one step towards ascertaining the identity of the girl I had seen dead in London.

Several days passed, during which I kept a good look out in the streets for sight of Doctor Moroni's fair companion. But I was not successful. Perhaps she had gone to London, as my host of Stretton Street had asserted!

One afternoon, while haunting the streets, I suddenly encountered Mrs. Cullerton walking in the Via Tornabuoni, and, raising my hat, stopped to speak.

After a few seconds she recognized me, and I walked at her side chatting. Her car was waiting in the Piazza Santa Trinita, but before she entered it she had promised to send me a card for a little “at home” she was giving on the following Thursday.

Now, not until we had parted did it occur to me that De Gex might be also going there. In that case he certainly should not meet me. So I sought Robertson's aid concerning his master's engagements, and discovered that on Thursday morning the millionaire was going to Leghorn to join his yacht for a week's cruise across to Algiers.

Therefore I accepted Mrs. Cullerton's invitation, and found at the villa a number of pleasant, cosmopolitan people, whom I had already met at the French Consul's. I was introduced by my hostess to her husband, Jack, a smartly-dressed man, and a typical young member of the Stock Exchange. Afterwards I succeeded in having quite a long conversation with his wife.

Quite casually I mentioned the Villa Clementini, and its owner.

“Do you know him?” she asked with interest. “He is such a dear, generous old thing.”

“I have met him once,” I replied with affected unconcern. “They say he's a little eccentric--don't they?”

“His enemies say that,” she replied, “but his friends are full of praise of him. He's the most charming and generous of men, and his great wealth allows him to perform all sorts of kind actions. They say that he can't refuse anybody who asks for his influence or help.”

I reflected that his influence was certainly a baneful one.

“Ah! I see you are one of his friends, Mrs. Cullerton!” I said, laughing.

“Yes--I confess I am.”

“Then would you be surprised if I told you in strictest confidence that he is not your friend, but one of your bitterest enemies!” I said, lowering my voice, and looking straight into her wide-open blue eyes.

“I don't understand you, Mr. Garfield!” she said, also lowering her voice.

“I will explain one day, Mrs. Cullerton--one day when we are alone.”

“When?” she whispered, for Madame Rameil was approaching at the moment.

“Whenever you like to make an appointment,” I replied. “Only I must first hold you to absolute secrecy.”

“That's agreed,” whispered the pretty young woman. “To-morrow. I will be here alone at three o'clock,” and then she held out her hand, and aloud said:

“Good-bye, Mr. Garfield. So sorry you have to run away so early. Good-bye!”

* * *

CHAPTER THE NINTH

SOME PLAIN SPEAKING

Punctually at three o'clock next afternoon the buxom Italian maid in dainty apron, ushered me into Mrs. Cullerton's charming salone. From the long windows a magnificent view spread away across the green valley of the Ema to the great monastery of the Certosa, a huge mediæval pile which resembled a mediæval fortress standing boldly against the background of the rolling Apennines.

Scarcely had I stood there a moment when my blue-eyed young hostess, in a becoming black-and-cherry frock, entered, and greeting me, closed the door.

“Well, Mr. Garfield? It's really awfully good of you to trouble to come out to see me. I'm all excitement to know what you have to tell me about Mr. De Gex. He's gone yachting--as you perhaps know. Do sit down.”

As I did so she passed me the cigarettes, and took one herself. Then, when I had held the match for her and had lit my own, I said:

“Well, Mrs. Cullerton, I really don't know how to commence. Somehow, I felt it my duty to come here to see you. I must admit that I have been manoeuvring for several days in order to get an introduction to you, and to obtain an opportunity of seeing you alone. And yet----”

“Yes. I quite see that. I thought by your attitude in the Via Tornabuoni that you seemed very anxious to know me,” and her lips relaxed into a pretty smile.

“That is so. In order to--well, to warn you,” I said very seriously.

“Warn me!--of what, pray?”

I hesitated. To be perfectly frank with her was, I saw, quite impossible. She might hear all I said and then inform De Gex. She was his friend. Or perhaps she would dismiss me and my story as pure invention. Hence I resolved to preserve my own secret concerning the Stretton Street Affair.

Looking straight into her face, I said:

“I'm here to warn you of a very grave personal danger.”

“You are really most alarming, Mr. Garfield,” she said in suspicion. “In what danger am I?”

“You are either in possession of some ugly fact concerning Mr. De Gex which he desires suppressed, or else you bar his way to some ambitious achievement.”

Her face changed, and she held her breath. Though it was only for a second I saw that what I had suggested was the truth. Her slim white hand twitched nervously upon her lap.

“Some fact concerning Mr. De Gex!” she gasped in feigned surprise. “Who told you that!” she asked, her face blanching.

“I have not been told. But I know it, Mrs. Cullerton,” was my reply. “I know that, though De Gex is assisting your husband out of a financial difficulty and pretends to be your good friend, he views you as his bitter enemy--as a person whose lips must, at all hazards, be closed.”

“Really, Mr. Garfield, what you say is too extraordinary--too amazing! I don't understand you!”

“I know it sounds most extraordinary,” I said. “But first tell me if you know a certain Doctor Moroni, who lives in the Via Cavezzo?”

“Certainly. The doctor attends Mr. De Gex and his family. I first met him in London, about a year ago. Mr. De Gex holds him in very high esteem.”

“Ah! Then you know the doctor.”

“Of course. When he was in London he several times came to our house in Fitzjohn's Avenue.”

“And your husband knows him?” I asked, looking her straight in the face. “Please tell me the truth,” I urged.

“No. Jack has never met him--not to my knowledge.”

I was silent for a few seconds. I had established a fact which I had all along suspected.

“Then he called in the daytime, when your husband was in the City--eh?”

“Yes.”

“Now tell me, did you ever have any strange illness after Doctor Moroni had called?” I inquired very seriously.

“Illness? Why, no! Why do you ask such a curious question?”

“I have reasons for asking it, Mrs. Cullerton,” was my reply. “I have called here as your friend, remember.”

“But all this is most bewildering,” she exclaimed with a nervous little laugh. “Why should I be in any personal peril?”

“Because you know something to the detriment of that wealthy and somewhat eccentric man,” I replied. “Pardon me if I put another question to you. Are you acquainted with a girl named Gabrielle Engledue?”

“Gabrielle Engledue?” she repeated. “No, I have never heard the name. I know a Gabrielle--Gabrielle Tennison--an old schoolfellow of mine.”

“A tall, dark-haired girl?”

“Yes, she is rather tall, and dark-haired.”

“Isn't her real name Engledue?” I asked quickly.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Is she not Mr. De Gex's niece?”

“He has no niece, has he?--except, of course, Lady Shalford, whom I know quite well.”

“Where is Gabrielle Tennison?”

“In London--I believe.”

“Are you certain she is not here, in Florence?”

“Mr. De Gex told me that she came to Florence for a few days----”

“To visit him--eh?”

“I suppose so. But she has returned to London.”

“Do you know her address in London,” I asked very anxiously. “I ask you this in our mutual interests, Mrs. Cullerton,” I added confidentially.

“Yes. She lives with her mother in a maisonette in Longridge Road, Earl's Court, I forget the number, but you could easily find out.”

“And she is there now, I presume?”

“I expect so--if what Mr. De Gex has told me is the truth.”

“But will he ever tell you the truth?” I queried. “Recollect that although he poses as your husband's friend, he is nevertheless your enemy--because he fears you! Why is that?”

The pretty wife of the young London stockbroker hesitated. I saw that she was much perturbed by my question.

“I suppose he suspects that I know certain things,” was her low, hard reply. “But he has been very good to Jack on several occasions. He has prevented him from being hammered on the Stock Exchange, therefore I can only be grateful to him.”

I looked the pretty woman straight in the face, and said:

“Grateful! Grateful to a man whose dastardly intention is, when the whim takes him, to send you to your grave, Mrs. Cullerton?”

“I--I really don't know what you mean. Are you mad? Do be more explicit,” she cried. “Why do you make these terrible allegations against Mr. De Gex?”

“Please recollect, Mrs. Cullerton, that I am here first in your interests, and secondly in my own. You and I are now both marked down as victims, because both of us are in possession of certain knowledge which would, if exposed, bring obloquy and prosecution upon an exceedingly wealthy man. Your husband, yourself, and myself, are merely pawns in the clever game which this man is playing--a mysterious game, I admit, and one in which he is actively assisted by Doctor Moroni--but also one in which, if we are not both very wary, we shall find ourselves the victims of fatal circumstances.”

My words seemed to impress the stockbroker's wife, for she asked: “Well--what shall I do?”

“Be perfectly frank with me,” I replied promptly. “Both of us have all to lose if we close our eyes to the conspiracy against us on the part of your friend De Gex and his shrewd and unscrupulous accomplice, Tito Moroni.”